


Five Times They Showered With Socks On, And One Time They Didn't

by Dinohunter5904



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Smoking, casual nudity, i'll add tags as i go so i don't clog things up when they're not even there yet sksks, not entirely sure why it's set like this. it just kinda happened, sorry curt, surprised that isn't already a tag wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dinohunter5904/pseuds/Dinohunter5904
Summary: Okay, little bit of context for those of you not on the SAF Discord, a long standing feud exists over how it feels to shower with socks on. Some think it's god's gift to humanity, others are sworn haters, others are just kinda meh. I came up with a cursed idea to write this and dammit, here it is. Hope y'all enjoy and don't pit roast me and eat my toes for it, thanks sksks. Comments and Kudos are always appreciated!





	1. The Time He Was Too Tired

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, little bit of context for those of you not on the SAF Discord, a long standing feud exists over how it feels to shower with socks on. Some think it's god's gift to humanity, others are sworn haters, others are just kinda meh. I came up with a cursed idea to write this and dammit, here it is. Hope y'all enjoy and don't pit roast me and eat my toes for it, thanks sksks. Comments and Kudos are always appreciated!

Mud dripped and flaked onto the floor with every step they took towards their apartment. Owen knew two things right now. One: that if he didn’t take a nice, long, _hot_ shower when he and Curt got home after that fucking shitshow, he’d likely never be clean again. Two: they’d either have to pay for a really nice cleaning service or clean up the hallway themselves if they didn’t want to risk eviction. Not that the government would have a problem paying for another shitty apartment, but the two of them had grown quite attached to this one and Cynthia probably wouldn’t be too happy about having to deal with the paperwork. 

Curt dug around in his pocket for his keychain and they winced as the mud, and possible literal shit, on the key ground against the mechanisms in the lock. “I wanna say that it feels like my ears are bleeding, but I think they’re still too full of mud for anything to actually come out.” He groaned, wiping at his face. “If you wanna get the water started, I’ll join you in a bit.”

Owen nodded. “Alright, just hurry up. We have a water bill to raise.”

Owen stripped as he walked towards the bathroom, then balled up his clothes and dropped them in the sink. He could deal with those in the morning. Currently, his mind was focused on showering and then actually sleeping for the first time in days. 

Curt was in much the same position, only his clothes had ended up in the kitchen sink for now. Cynthia would probably kill him if they couldn’t get their safety deposit back because mud had stained the carpet. Mud stains things, right? He searched the cupboards for a granola bar or something when he heard a piercing shriek from the bathroom and grabbed his gun off the counter and ran in. When he opened the door, he was greeted by the image of Owen frantically clawing one of his socks off and throwing it into the bathtub. The water was running and the sock was now very, very wet. 

Curt set his gun down and walked over to Owen. “What the hell was that? Are you okay?”

Owen groaned and sat down on the toilet. His head dropped into his hands for a second before he stared back at the tub. “Yes, I’m alright, old boy. I just forgot to take my socks off before getting in and it caught me off guard.”

Curt’s short laugh was breathy and full of unsure humour. His face scrunched up as he looked his partner up and down to try and see if he was kidding. “Caught you off- Owen it’s just a sock.”

“'Just a sock'?” Owen scoffed. He balled up the one he just took off and threw it at Curt’s chest, smearing the mud still on there before he caught it. “Put that on and stick your foot in there, see if you like it.”

Curt laughed again before leaning over. “Seriously, it can’t have been that bad, it’s _just_ a so- oh. Oh, that’s bad. I don’t like that.”

Owen’s arms and eyebrows raised simultaneously to gesture at the running water and second now very, very wet sock. “See! It’s not fucking fun!”

Curt peeled it off and let it float to join its twin near the drain. “Yeah, okay, I get your point yikes.” He paused. “So… now what do we do with those?”

Owen sighed. “Just put them in the sink. I need to feel clean again.”


	2. The Time He Was Caught In Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot to post this today so many goddamn times, it's so bad. I'm not entirely sure how consistent I'll be in posting these since I'm gonna be doing some Travelling in the next week, so it might be a little Funky. Apologies in advance lol. Also, sorry for the angst. Don't worry, it gets worse. (What, you thought this would just be a fluffy crack fic? Me too, honestly, so I don't blame you.) Remember, comments and kudos are always appreciated, and I hope you enjoy!!

“Hey, Owen!” Curt slid into the kitchen. “I’m moving in style.”

Owen eyed him over the top of his newspaper. “Curt, darling, I hope you’re aware of the fact that the only clothes you have on are my jacket and some socks.”

Curt flexed and smiled. “Why do you think I said it was stylish?”

Owen snorted and refolded his paper, setting it on the table. He crooked his finger and Curt obeyed. He shuffled over and placed his hand on the table, leaning over him. Owen reached his hand up and ghosted his fingers over Curt’s chest, who shivered at the light touch. Owen’s hand drifted over to the jacket and leaned up to pull it off, which Curt complied with. After the jacket came off, Curt leaned in. Owen's hand pulled away from the jacket in his lap and placed it back in its previous position on Curt's chest. Then he pushed Curt off.

"Hey- Owen, what the hell?"

He snorted. "Curt, darling, it's nine a.m. and you _stink_. I tolerated it last night, but I'm not doing this right now." Owen sipped the rest of his coffee as he stood up before setting the mug back on the table and shrugging on the jacket.

"Wha- I don't- how dare you-" He cut off his own squawking with a huff. "I don't stink."

Owen patted down the jacket pockets for a moment before finding what he was looking for and tapping a cigarette out of the pack and slipping it into his mouth. "Did you shower after you got home last night?"

Curt groaned. "I was _tired_ , okay?"

"Well, you've slept now, so," Owen nodded towards the hallway. "Hopefully you're awake enough to get clean. I need a smoke, anyway."

Curt glared at him. “You’re ruining your lungs with those, you know.”

“Curt-”

“And the ceilings; there’s going to be yellow spots all over.”

“Curt, love, that’s why I smoke outside-”

“And I’m not going to kiss you when you taste like tar because that’s what they’re filling your arteries with.”

Owen hummed. “Maybe I’m burning yellow spots on the ceiling, but you’re getting them on your liver from all that drinking, and if you think I’m going to fuck you when you have a bad case of ‘limp dick,’ you might want to rethink some things.” He sighed to cover up his heavy breathing, but his shoulders remained high and the scowl remained on his face, and he wasn’t quite sure when those happened.

They stood there and stared for a couple of moments before Curt’s shoulders dropped and he sighed. “Yeah, alright. We’ll both work on it, okay?”

Owen softened. “Agreed.” He pulled Curt in for a quick kiss before pushing him away again. “Now go shower.” Curt smiled and they both turned to walk away before Owen thought of something and turned back. “Oh, and Curt?” Curt faced him. “Maybe consider putting some clothes on later. It’s rather difficult to take you seriously if I look anywhere below the neck.”

Curt barked a laugh and promised he would consider it if they ended up on the floor later. Owen rolled his eyes and laughed, then headed outside and left Curt to his shower. After heading into the bathroom and turned the water on, he let his mind wander as he messed with the temperature. 

He should probably ask Cynthia about his next assignment soon since being regulated to desk work for the next couple of days (“As is mandatory after a mission of this magnitude to deal with the shitstorm of paperwork that inevitably follows.” He can hear Cynthia say.) and having something to work on may be nice; though, these types of things tend to bring about unintended consequences- oh, that’s a nice temp, alright here we go- and being assigned something unexpectedly quickly isn’t necessarily unheard of so- Wait. 

What. The fuck. Is that.

Curt leaned down to see that he had forgotten to take his socks off before he had gotten in. Great. Just- Great. Peachy. “God motherfuckin’ dammit.” It felt like stepping in a puddle and that feeling of the moisture seeping in and getting trapped by the now-dirty cloth, only ten times worse. It was covering his entire foot and gave the distinct feeling of broken dreams and disappointment. It felt like his foot was trapped in a container of just _pure trench foot_ and that it would never feel or smell normal again.

It occurred to him that he had been standing there, stewing in his one wet sock, one dry sock, and overall failure as a human being for entirely too long.

He chastised himself for his little pity party as he carefully peeled off the sock and wrung it out. A couple seconds of considering led to the sock being placed on the towel rack. He stepped back into the tub, used some of the water to shake the gel out of his hair, and debated the pros and more pros of never letting Owen know this happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh also, I couldn't really work it in here because it'd be clunky, but Owen doesn't go out and smoke. He actually chucks the pack as far as he can because he's Owen "I could've been an actor" Carvour and he's fucking Dramatique sksksks


	3. The Time He Had To For “Health and Safety”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, FINALLY IT IS D O N E. I am _so_ sorry this took so long to come out. I don't really have any excuses other than I'm a very slow writer sksksks. I also just sort of,, straight up forgot how people worked and ended up doubting every action and line of dialogue in Specifically this chapter and nothing else I've been writing so that's fun, but hey. Hope you guys enjoy nonetheless!! Remember, comments and kudos are always appreciated.

“Okay, so, it’s a shower, right? So obviously, it’s gonna be wet. But this is like, ten million times worse because water is nice and refreshing and relaxing but with socks on it feels gross, and I mean absolutely disgusting. Like, it feels like foot fungus is just _covering_ your foot and-”

Barb sighed. “Curt, as much as I would _love_ to continue listening to you talk about how disgusting socks feel when you’re showering, this particular piece of code is being particularly difficult and I only allowed you in here to wait for Owen if you were quiet and functioned as my duck since I lost mine. So, if you could please just-” She made a sharp zipping motion over her lips before adjusting her glasses and turning back to her computer.

Curt’s eyes widened and he raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, geez. Sorry.” He picked up the watch from the counter and started fidgeting with it.

“Curt.”

“Yeah, okay.” He placed the watch back in her open palm and resigned himself to twiddling his thumbs and maybe picking at the seams on the furniture while he waited for any response from Owen. “Sorry.” 

Barb’s shoulders dropped and she sighed again. “No, _I’m_ sorry for being snippy with you. It’s just that this project has been taking a lot more time and concentration than I originally anticipated so it’s very frustrating, but I don’t mean to take that out on you, okay?”

Curt nodded and picked at the hem of his- Owen’s- _their_ jacket. “Okay, yeah, I can-”

The watch flicked on and a grainy, shaky picture of Owen’s chin came into view. “Barb?— This— Alpha, Golf— Charlie.” 

“Owen!?” Barb scrambled for the watch and quickly transferred the feed to one of her various monitors.

“Barb? Oh thank god, this blasted thing is finally working. I tried to report from inside the compound, but something was blocking the signal.”

“You should be fine, your memory hasn’t let us down before.” Barb opened up half a dozen other windows on her monitors and started typing random numbers and code that Curt could never hope to understand. “I should be able to get your coordinates now that we have a connection. What did you see in there?”

Owen’s training didn’t allow him to openly pant as he ran, so much as a quick and controlled intake and outtake of air, producing a sort of hissing sound. It was occasionally cut by grunts of exertion as he cut through vine after vine and branch after branch of jungle with his machete. "The whole building was quite literally full of computers; they were packed in wall to wall with only just enough room to move through and keep them cool. The amount of information was unbelievable. Unfortunately, that meant I just had to judge which looked important and get as much as I could. Apologies in advance if that comes back to bite us in the arse." Curt winced. Cynthia probably wasn't going to like that, but there wasn't anything they could really do about it. 

Barb shook her head. "Oh, it's fine. You did what you could. Is there anything urgent you saw that we need to know about?"

“Oh, there is one thing; I managed to find a name. Chimera.” Curt and Barb both stopped at that. In all these months of chasing the ghost organization, they’d never been able to get a confirmation of a name, just rumours. That’s the most they’d really heard about the organization overall, at least until this point. Rumours grand enough to worry a portion of the American Secret Service. 

“That’s great!” Barb snapped her attention back to her computer and started clacking away at the keys. 

“Sounds like they took a page out of some Captain America comics for that one.” Curt scoffed.

The noise from the watch faltered for a moment. “Curt, old boy, is that you?”

Curt shifted in his chair, a giddy smile slowly worming its way onto his face and into his posture. “Hey, Owen.”

“Oh! I almost forgot to mention.” Owen turned the watch down towards his feet. Despite him momentarily pausing movement, the quality of the picture wasn’t good enough to see anything other than some amorphous, vaguely orange _something._ “I probably shouldn’t have been surprised that the security system was able to detect me considering they were also able to block out your signal, but it must’ve tripped on my way out. Guns came out of the walls and started firing some… substance at my feet; bright orange, impedes movement. Any ideas?”

“Strange substance is probably something you want to lead with, Owen.” Curt grumbled.

Owen rolled his eyes and got running again. "I'll be fine, old chap." Curt wrinkled his nose and mockingly mimicked him under his breath.

Barb looked between the pair for a moment before speaking. "Well, you know very well that strange substance means quarantine, Agent Carvour, especially in situations like this. In the meantime, I'll get the showers ready for you-"

"No, I've got this." Curt stiffly stood out of his chair and gestured with one hand to make his point. "You can do… whatever computery stuff you need to with that drive and I can go turn those on."

Barb furrowed her eyebrows. "Are you sure? I mean, it's from a control room and I know you're not the biggest fan of technology-"

Under normal circumstances, the sweet smile he gave her would be believable, but as he scoffed and waved her off, she knew his recent behavior didn't add up to a happy conclusion. "Nah, nah, I've got this. I've been in quarantine enough times, I should know how it works at this point. I'll see you later, Barb." He glared at the grainy picture of Owen. "I'll see you, too."

The door slammed behind him.

"...He can be such an asshole sometimes, huh?" Owen would call her scoff disbelieving if he didn't know how long she'd been working with and, more importantly, having to put up with one Agent Curt Mega.

Owen gave her a laugh in return, though his was a lot softer. “He’s just mad at me. We’ve been trying to… work through some things lately; I must’ve accidentally overstepped a boundary of some sort.”

Barb nodded. “Well, I hope you guys are able to work out… whatever it is soon. I know how much you two mean to each other.”

Owen collapsed in the cockpit of the two-seater he had taken there and started flipping various switches, careful not to shake the watch too much so that the video feed didn’t get too disorienting. “We have a fairly clean record so far.”

“Well, I’ll see you soon, Agent Carvour.”

“Over and out.” He gives her a polite smile as he turns off the feed while the engine revs. Once it’s off, he takes off. 

The actual travel time probably took less than the initial steps of quarantine, A.S.S. scientists falling over themselves to take a look at what the cat dragged in. Even though the cat didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter and would rather if he didn’t have to drag it in, thank you very much. Scientists in hazmat suits scraped samples off his legs, scans were done, and tests were taken. His personal least favourite part was being stripped naked and his clothes being taken for “further testing” and getting shoved toward the showers, which was a little more than humiliating and very cold. Even better, he was ordered one week in the infirmary for strict observation, meaning a week of shitty hospital food and sterile hospital gowns. Joy.

A sterile white hallway led to a sterile grey room, where shower heads with no knobs to control them sprouted from the walls. He wasn’t quite sure how Curt managed to do this multiple times, it was awful.

An unseen speaker crackled to life. “Hey, Owen.” Speak of the devil. “How’s quarantine been treating you?”

“I’ve had worse. That hotel in Bolivia, for starters.” Owen smirked as the showers roared to life, wiping his feet along the already wet floor. "So, how many times did you have to practice that?"

Curt snorted and Owen's smile widened. "Fuck off, Carvour."

Owen started with his hair, as per usual. The soaps were standard issue and not quite what he'd prefer, but they'd do. He closed his eyes as he tipped his head back to rinse his hair and when he opened them back up, Curt was waving from a window that wasn't there before. "I probably shouldn't be surprised they have darkening one-way window in here."

Curt shrugged. "It's the Secret Service. We like our secrecy. You know, I think I'm actually getting the hang of the whole 'control panel' thing."

Owen hummed and ran his soapy hands over his body again to make sure that he got every nook and cranny. "You know, old boy, I don't think quarantine showers are supposed to be nearly this comfortable."

Curt raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Here, lemme just, uh… ha!" He must've turned some sort of dial or something because the streams of water went from "pleasant shower" to "power wash" and Owen had to keep his arms up to shield his face as he laughed. The water turned back down and Owen wiped a hand over his face to get the excess water out of his eyes. 

“What’s next, a dryer going hard enough to blow me over and break my skull open?”

When Curt didn’t respond, Owen turned back in time to catch him gaping like a fish before his face hardened. “You should care more about your wellbeing, you know.”

Owen wrinkled his nose. “It was just a joke, darling. Hypothetical at best.”

“I get that, but it’s still about a bigger problem. You didn’t even care that you could’ve died today.”

Owen sighed. “Love, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be… reckless. It’s just better to be calm under pressure, you know?”

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between keeping calm and then _not mentioning_ that you were shot with some weird orange stuff! You literally fucking _forgot._ At least if I’m annoying about getting hit with something it means that people know that it fucking happened and can deal with it!”

“Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll try to get better about telling you about that sort of thing, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just, you scared me for a hot second there.”

“If there’s anyway to make it up to you, I’m all for it, love.”

Curt thought for a second before his eyes lit up. “Oh! Yes, okay uh, one sec I’ll be right down. Shit, how do turn this damn thing o-” The window he was looking at turned metallic once again and a few moments later, the water also turned off. A panel on the other side of the room slid open and Curt told him to catch before tossing something to him. On closer inspection and a sinking suspicion, Owen realized they were socks. “Put them on and I’ll turn the water back on in a second.” He said, ducking back to whatever passageway he used to get to the door. 

“Wait! Curt, old boy, are you sure there isn’t anything else I could do to make it up to you?” Owen pleaded as the panel slid closed once more.

The speakers crackled on. “Come on, you said anything. For me?”

Owen rolled his eyes and started taking the socks apart. “Fine.”

Curt grinned "Just pretend it's for health and safety." He pressed some buttons to get the water flowing again once Owen finally slipped the socks on. He started cackling when he saw Owen’s face of thinly veiled disgust and was almost calm by the time he pressed the button to speak. "Oh yeah, this was definitely the best and only way to make it up to me feel better."

Owen was sure Curt would be able to hear the squelching of his socks from the control room and he had to suppress a wince. "I still feel that this was uncalled for. It's not actually that bad, though."

"Well, at least we're even again." Curt laughed.

"Wait, even?" Owen perked up. "This happened to you a second time? Why didn't I hear about this?"

"Oh, uh. It was after that little fight we had. You know, about you smoking and me..." He mimed bringing a bottle to his lips.

"Ah." Owen sobered for a moment before laughing. "When you were completely naked in our kitchen?"

"Hey, I wasn't completely naked!” Curt stopped himself before he slammed his hands on the control panel for dramatic effect in case it broke something. “I had socks on! And you're the one who pulled my jacket off."

"Yeah, because it's my jacket, love. You're the one who likes to steal my clothes."

"...Touché. Well, I should probably get you dried off. If you look to your left you'll see a door leading to the next room with the driers. Warning, it makes your skin feel kinda funky. Just leave the socks on the floor, I can get new ones."

"I- you know what? I'll find out when I get there. Also, are these socks yours?" He wiggled his toes in the nondescript black cloth.

"You betcha. The only things you're gonna be wearing for the next week are hospital gowns, the ones where I can see your ass. See you next door!" 

Owen rolled his eyes and let himself scrunch his nose in disgust as his steps were punctuated by squelching. He'd have to get Curt back for this sometime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh also, I asked my mom and she said socks in the shower sound gross.


	4. The Time He Was Drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick content warning before we hop into things, y'all: Curt is a recovering alcoholic who relapses. There's light discussions of shit (read: abusive) dads, codependency, and possible depression. Capiche? Okay, we good.

Zoomed out. That was probably the best way to describe how he felt. He could probably zoom back in if he wanted to, feel the sheets on his bed against his skin, notice all the little imperfections in the ceiling, notice whether or not he was breathing, but emphasis on "if." Being zoomed in was too much energy right now. 

Granted, his alternative was being zoomed out and that wasn't really working out for him, but the path of least resistance seemed most appealing right now.

He couldn't really focus on the details of the real right now. It was all about the bigger picture in Curt's mind tonight. 

The amount of effort it took to roll over should probably be alarming, but now he was here. On his side. Trying not to think about the fact that he was missing something. The warmth of a body next to his, the extra weight and strain on the mattress, the soft lullaby of another man's breath and heart. He felt the emptiness weigh heavy in his chest and his heart clenched. Tried not to give in to thoughts and urges that promised comfort and warmth and fulfillment. Tried to zoom back in to avoid thinking or really just being alive.

He really tried.

Owen sighed and felt his heart clench at the jingling and scratching of failed attempts to unlock the door. “You were doing so well, love.” He muttered to the ground after pulling open the door. He looked Curt up and down, searching for— but hoping desperately that he didn't find— any sign Curt had done something even more stupid, on top of what he had already done. 

“Yeah, alright.” Curt picked at the hem of his jacket. His speech was slurred and he looked about ready to fall over with the amount of swaying he was doing. 

Owen sighed, and moved to support Curt as he tried to walk through the door, before then guiding him to the bathroom. Their apartment wasn’t large by any means, but crossing the kitchen felt like it took ages, and maneuvering around the counter was nigh impossible. Actually getting through the bathroom door was probably the worst part, as it was too thin to fit the both of them through. They managed to get through once Owen walked through, and then just watched to make sure Curt didn’t manage to fall in the half a second that it took. Neither of them would’ve been surprised if he did.

The tension in Owen’s chest didn't lesson as he set Curt on the toilet. The nightlight next to the sink, combined with the dim moonlight filtering through the frosted glass of the tiny window above the shower, provided just enough light to see by. He stood up and started walking back to the door. "I'm going to get you a bottle of water. Please take your clothes off and get ready to shower; I'm not going to sleep with you when you smell like a bar."

Curt half-heartedly smiled up at him. "At least buy me dinner first."

Owen swiveled to face him. "Curt, not-" He sighed and tried to keep his voice calmer, but it mostly just sounded tired. "Not tonight. Please."

Curt swallowed and nodded. "Right. Sorry." He started by pulling his red and black jacket off his shoulders. Owen's old jacket. At this point, Owen was too damn exhausted to try and scratch the surface of the emotions that thought brought up. Psychoanalyzing can come later. 

He slugged back to the kitchen and grabbed a plastic bottle out of the case on top of the fridge, before switching it out with one of the cold ones inside. His feet started carrying him back to the bathroom before his brain could catch up, and he forced them to stop at the counter when he noticed his hands were shaking. Owen set the water bottle down and took a couple of deep breaths to calm his nerves. Curt went out and got drunk. He’s a legal adult who can make his own choices and Owen shouldn’t be taking this so fucking hard. So, why was he?

A thought popped to mind and when Owen heard the creaking of plastic, he noticed he was squeezing the nonexistent life out of the bottle and took a second to ground himself.

When he arrived back in the bathroom, Curt had already undressed and was holding onto the towel rack above the toilet as he tried to grab the shower knob. It took him a couple of times, but he managed to turn it on by himself. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to be leaning over like that while you’re…” _Say it, coward._ “Like this?”

“Prolly not.” Curt replied, regaining his balance after standing back up. “Bu’chu were takin’ a while and I-I didn' wanna hav’ta take too long.”

“How considerate.” Owen muttered. 

Curt stepped into the tub, and his hand flew to the wall to catch himself when he almost slipped. He looked down and noticed he still had his socks on. Must’ve spaced out or nodded off for a second and forgotten to take them off. He felt he probably deserved that and closed the shower curtain behind himself. After getting everything wet, he decided that everything was too slippery for standing, so he slowly eased himself down until he was sitting. The water splashing against the tub was muffled by Curt's body, and there was the occasional splashing and squeaks as he moved, or the snap of a soap bottle cap and the thud of the bottle being set back down.

Owen dropped the water bottle down onto the sink counter, and then himself onto the closed toilet. He took a deep breath before asking what had been on his mind since he got home. "Why did you go out?"

Almost all indication that Curt was actually still in there ceased other than the sound of water droplets on skin.

"Doesn' really matter."

Owen sighed. "Yes it does, Curt."

"Does'ere hav'ta have be a reason?"

"You haven't touched anything alcoholic in two months, I'm sure there must have been something."

"Sometimes people jus’... fall off the wagon."

"Was that what this was?"

"...no."

“...are you going to tell me why, then?”

“Probably not.”

Owen sighed. “I don’t even know why I’m trying to have this conversation with you right now. You’re- you’re _drunk.”_

“No, I-” He went silent for a moment, gathering his murky and swirly thoughts, almost like the dirty water that was spilling down the drain. “I’m mostly jus’ tired; you know how my tolerance is. I can have this talk.”

Owen felt a lot more like curling around himself than he had ability to do while sitting on the toilet, so he got onto the floor less by standing up, and more collapsing off of his seat. He moved into a new position against the wall that was previously in front of him, his right side against the plastic-y rim of the tub. It was a little wet where water escaped past the shower curtain, but it wasn't too bad overall. "Did I ever tell you that my dad was an alcoholic, Curt?"

There's some squeaking. "You don't talk much about your family… at all."

"Ah. Well, he was. He wasn't really violent or anything, not as bad as you might think, anyway. He was mostly just sort of sad. As much of a prick as he was, I can see that he was hurting and- I never want you to be hurting like that, love."

"Oh." Curt felt a warm tear slip down his face and tried to wipe it away, but mostly just succeeded in spreading the water on his hand and getting his face more wet than before. "Um, I guess my dad was kinda like that too, from the way my mom talks about him. We had some pretty different take-aways from the whole 'drunk dad' thing though, huh?"

"I guess so." Owen picked at the grout between the flooring tiles with the back of his nail so it didn't get underneath and feel all grimey. 

Curt turned around and scooted back a little, so that his back was under the water and he could rinse the shampoo from his hair. At this point, the socks had sort of molded to his feet and he could barely feel them unless he focused, so he focused on getting every little sud out of his hair instead. When he was satisfied with how much he'd managed to get out, he let himself speak. 

"I was lonely."

"Hm?" Owen looked up from where he'd made a sizable divet in the grout.

"You and Tati were both out on missions, Barb is busy with some computer thing, and I wasn't about to go trying to talk to my mom or Cynthia so... spending the night bar hopping it was."

"...I was coming back. If you would've held on just a little longer, I would've been here."

Curt laughed, or maybe it was a scoff. "That wasn't really good enough at the time. You were supposed to be gone for two more days. You would’ve never found out about this."

After taking a second to process that, Owen couldn’t help but feel the weight of it settle on his chest. He knew that he couldn’t be responsible for that, it was Curt’s choice and Curt’s alone, not to mention he was already home way earlier than expected, but he couldn’t help but wish that he had been here. Wish that he could’ve prevented this. He cleared his throat. "Well, even so, I'm sure your mother would have been delighted to hear from you, and Barb would certainly make time if it meant avoiding this."

"Well, she didn' seem so excited to make time for me last time, an’ this isn't a 'talk to mom' kinda thing. She's always so loud and even then, talking on the phone isn't the same as being with someone in person."

They both sat in silence, the shower water continuing to patter on Curt and the tub, and slowly growing colder.

"...if you want to, we could probably get you in to see someone."

Curt flinched. "Don' really have the greatest track record with shrinks."

Owen shrugged. "It's an option." 

More waiting. As he sat there with the water droplets beating at his back, Curt realized that Owen wouldn’t suggest this if he didn’t think it would help. They care about each other. It couldn’t hurt to try.

“...Alright, I’ll go. But only if you come, too.”

“Of course, love. Anywhere you need me to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back when I first came up with the concept for this fic, I asked the server some reasons why they would shower with socks on, since there's only so many explanations for doing it on accident. Someone (I don't remember who, as this was back in June) suggested while they were drunk and I thought "oh duh! of course!" and added it to the chapter concept list. Originally, it was supposed to be a lot more light hearted to keep in line with the tone of the rest of these, but after some things happened in my personal life, I didn't really feel all too comfortable portraying alcohol in a positive light.
> 
> So, sorry for bringing the mood down, but I hope y'all understand. Btw, I promise that a) the final two chapters will be a lot fluffier than this, and b) neither of them will take a month and a half to come out lol. Anyway, I hope that everyone reading this has or had a good day, and remember kids: don't do drugs.


	5. The Time They Were Too Enamoured To Notice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been _way_ too long since I've posted a chapter, so apologies on that front lmao. With school starting back up and all that, I've been pretty low on time and motivation to write. However, the chapter is finally done anyway, so who cares! The last chapter was sort of sad, but I'm delivering on my promise and giving y'all a chapter that is entirely fluff. Hope you enjoy. Kudos and comments always welcome!

It isn’t often that Owen Carvour wakes up slowly. He’s not exactly the type to immediately hop up out of bed, but once he’s awake, he’s never really able to fall back to sleep. The nerves and other instincts, after years of honing them, have lost the ability to avoid screaming at him. Screaming that the more time he spends in bed, the less time he can spend protecting innocent civilians around the world; the less time he’s aware of his surroundings, the more time he’s spending unprotected. That tends to be enough to make anyone snap to awareness, once they’re no longer unconscious.

(And granted, that isn’t to say he doesn’t sometimes have gut-wrenching, sweat-inducing, scream-producing nightmares. The kind that _do_ make him jump out of bed as soon as his muscles are once again responding to the commands his brain gives them. The kind of man in his line of work that lives without those is likely one that you never want to meet.)

That particular morning, though, he came to awareness slowly. He first vaguely registered warmth, and fabric. A grunt came from beside him, and he felt Curt nuzzle closer and let out a satisfied hum into his shoulder. Owen allowed himself a few more moments to keep his eyes closed, before putting his hand in front of the sun and opening them. The ambient brightness still succeeded in stunning him momentarily, so, after managing to peel himself out of his lover’s grip enough to move comfortably, he rolled away from the sun and towards Curt. A much more preferable sight, in his humble opinion.

Most of their bodies were still covered in a thick duvet, which was probably for the best. Curt had always acted as a nice heater when they were tangled in bed together, but while Curt was his sword, beating back the cold valiantly, the blanket was the shield keeping it all in. Protecting him from the harsh, room temperature air that froze his newly awoken skin; almost as harsh as the flame of an angry and ancient dragon. He laughed slightly, barely more than a scoff, into the pillow. Talk about fantasy. Perhaps he was still half asleep, with visions such as these dancing in his head. He shifted and pulled the blanket closer around himself.

This duvet wasn’t his favourite of their blankets, but the usual quilt they slept under remained somewhere out of sight, as it always was when they made love. It tends to be a bit of a mood killer when you realize that you’re currently… doing things to the love of your life on top of a blanket his mother made for the two of you. He can’t imagine it would be any easier for Curt.

Owen sighed and tried to put Mrs. Mega out of his mind, but the harder one tries to stop thinking about something, the more they think about it. So, he tried his best to focus on her son instead. 

Depending on how well you knew Curt Mega and where you knew him from, you might be surprised to know that man has a nasty habit of drooling. It was sort of endearing the first few times: waking up to the sight of his bedhead and slight snores and drool. After all, they worked as wonderful indicators for how comfortable Curt had been. He always seemed so put together—well, that might be a bit of a stretch—while on missions, but at home with Owen, he allowed himself to show every little imperfection. It had felt humbling.

By the point of this delightful, peaceful morning, it just felt like quite the disgusting annoyance. Waking up with saliva on you was more characteristic of living with a dog, rather than a grown man. However, Owen has resigned himself to the fact that this is just one of Curt's many quirks that he must learn to live with, if not love. 

He slowly eased himself up from the bed, wincing whenever it creaked and Curt stirred. After an agonizing minute or so, he finally managed to slip out of the bed, into a bathrobe, and out into the hall. The soft carpet was thankfully not too cold and also offered some wonderful soundproofing, making his footfall equally soft.

Sunlight shone through the curtains covering the balcony’s glass doors. The light blue thread washed the rest of the dining area and part of the kitchen counters in that same shade. Owen stood and took in the sight for a few breaths, then hissed as his feet crossed from the carpet to freezing hardwood, then even worse kitchen tile. The pitter-pattering of his bare feet against the hardwood floor resounded in the kitchenette.

While searching through the various cabinets for something to eat, he realized that he wasn’t as famished as he had suspected. Rather than hungry, he had mostly just felt parched, and his thirst had just been quenched after drinking up the rest of a water bottle on what was superficially still his side of the fridge. He let out a soft, “ah, ha,” after finding a box of granola bars, and popped one end of it between his teeth before shoving the box back in its place.

Owen leaned against the counter and, after opening and throwing away the wrapper, chewed thoughtfully. Well, maybe thoughtfully was the wrong word since he wasn't doing much thinking. It was more just feeling. Existing, if you will. Being aware of his surroundings, rather than getting lost in the depths of his mind. Vaguely, as he registered this, he wondered if he'd be any good at meditating. As he shifted his stance and moved his feet to a new area of tile, he also became aware of how much his feet had warmed where he stood and how cold the rest of the floor had remained. He peered at the clock above the sink and figured if Curt wasn't awake by the point, he might as well not put too much effort into making sure he stayed asleep.

Even though he tried to put no real effort into how he stepped, it's very hard to put no thought into something you were just thinking about (as he'd been repeatedly finding out that morning). His footsteps were flat and even, and his spine stayed straight, as he made his way to his sock drawer. When he sat on the bed to put them on, he consciously sat heavily, and rolled his eyes when Curt only groaned and shifted.

Before leaving, he allowed himself to watch Curt’s chest rise and fall and wonder how he had gotten so lucky.

Standing in the hallway, he debated trying to make breakfast, but he still wasn’t very hungry and found himself still pulling his bathrobe closer around himself. A nice, warm shower sounded nice right about then. So, he grabbed some towels and entered the bathroom. 

As he got everything ready, he allowed his mind to wander back to breakfast, then to Curt. Their increasing domesticity probably should have been of some concern to the two of them, or at least to their higher-ups. Or maybe it was, and they just hadn’t deemed the threat great enough to be deserving of corrective action. They were two of the world’s greatest spies. Maybe the agency just didn’t think they could afford to try and pull them apart. Owen grinned at the thought.

The shower had warmed up to the point that steam was rising over the curtain, so he slid the bathrobe off, tossed it onto the counter, and stepped in.

He immediately regretted it.

Owen had always found comfort in the scalding heat of a nice shower. The hot water cleansing of whatever impurities, literal or otherwise, the day had left him with. Either that, or it steeled him for the day ahead, as though he were a weapon being forged for battle. It was sort of a calming ritual. This was not that.

Owen took a deep breath, resolving himself to the fate he had brought upon himself. Might as well commit to the consequences of his mistake. 

In the other room, Curt finally breathed awake and realized that the other half of the bed was cold. He groggily patted the bed, searching for some sign of Owen, but found none. He groaned and sat up, keeping the warm comforter wrapped around himself. The blanket made soft rustling sounds as Curt shuffled out of bed. After standing for a moment without a single thought passing through his head, he registered that there was a tiny lump underneath his ride foot. Shuffling around so that he could see what it was, he saw that it was one of the socks that he had worn yesterday and searched for the other one. Once he found the other half of the pair, he looked at them, then shrugged and slipped them on. 

In the bathroom, Owen was just about done massaging his scalp when he felt the rush of cold air. “Curt?” 

“Mmh, nope. ‘S an intruder here to kill you. You’ll just have to imagine the movie music yourself.”

Owen smiled as he scoffed. He peered around the shower curtain and saw a mass of blankets standing in the doorway, with only a small hole to allow Curt to see and breathe. He laughed and said, “You know, I think light blue is your colour.”

“Thanks,” Curt said, and while Owen couldn’t see his smile, he could hear it.

They paused for a moment. “Are you here to join me?” 

“...If you’re offering.”

“I’m offering a shower with your partner, Mega. That’s all.”

Curt allowed the blanket to fall off the top of his head as he laughed this time around. “That’s all I wanted. ‘Sides, I think I’m still too worn out to do anything like that.”

“I’d say so. You still sound half asleep.” Owen opened the curtain a little. “You coming in or what? Water won’t stay warm forever.”

Reluctantly, Curt allowed the blanket to fall off his shoulders and onto the ground, then sort of kicked it out into the hallway and off the bathroom floor. The steam in the bathroom had produced enough warmth for it to be comfortable even without a covering. Curt looked at Owen and asked, “Are you going to let me in now, or just keep the curtain closed to you can have all the hot water to yourself?”

Owen grinned and opened the curtain, but noticed Curt’s socks on the shag carpet mats a little too late. 

“Oh, mother _fucker.”_ Curt hadn’t actually looked down yet, so full of disgust and annoyance as he was, which made it easier for him to stare at Owen when he started laughing. “Are you- are you laughing at my pain? Seriously, here I am with my _boyfriend,_ who- who- look at me.” A giggle bubbled out of him. “Fuck you, Carvour.”

Curt tried to keep his face stoic for image purposes, but couldn’t help a smile when Owen through his head back and _laughed._ He wouldn’t give this sight for the world, despite what he had jokingly threatened. 

“You- your- Christ, Curt, your _face!”_ Owen wheezed. His face was red and his hands were on Curt’s shoulders for stability.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. You had enough fun now? Because I think the sock is starting to become a part of my foot.”

Owen wiped at his eyes. “Curt, love. Look down.”

“What do you- oh.” Caught off guard, he let out another giggle. “I- you’re wearing socks.”

“I just about did the same thing as you, so I kept them on to make sure I learned my lesson.” Owen sniffled and admitted, “Now that I say it out loud, it sounds rather stupid.”

Curt nodded. “Just a little bit.”

Owen took a deep breath and straightened, taking his hands off Curt. “Well,” he started, then stopped for lack of something to say.

“That was something,” Curt finished for him.

“Yes, it was.”

“Are you going to take your socks off before or after you get in?”

Curt laughed and said, “Before, thank you very much. I’m not keeping these things on longer than I need to.”

After throwing the socks in the sink, along with some admonishing from Owen—”Did you put on the same ones you wore yesterday? Curt, be a little civilized, will you?”—he stepped into the shower alongside his partner. Their eyes met and for a moment, they got the same rush as when they first met. Curt wrapped an arm around Owen’s waist to pull him closer, and in doing so, caused him to slip slightly.

Owen gripped Curt’s shoulder to right himself. “Love, one of these times I’m going to end up slipping and falling and you’re going to feel very guilty when that happens.”

Curt grinned. “Yeah, alright.”

“This is also considerably less romantic due to us being naked.”

“Well, you’re wearing socks.”

“As though that counts.”

Curt moved in for a quick peck, then let go to lean over and grab the body wash. After pouring the soap into his hands, he gestured for Owen to turn around and tilted his hands to let it pour onto his partner’s skin. 

Curt leaned in and whispered into his ear as he rubbed his shoulders. “Hey, Owen?”

“Yes, Curt?” Owen sighed, allowing his shoulders and metaphorical guard to drop as he relaxed.

Curt grinned and lowered his voice further before saying, “I have to disagree with you on one bit.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“You said that this is less romantic because we’re naked, but you definitely weren’t saying that last night. Actually, if memory serves, I think you were actively taking clothes _off.”_

“...You’re a bastard you know that?”

Curt laughed and just kept washing Owen’s back. “Takes one to know one, asshole. Love you.”

“I love you, too.”


	6. And The One Time They Didn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This truly feels like the end of an era, but also a beginning. The night that I finish and post this has seen a resurgence in activity on the SAF server like we haven't seen since summer and it really seems to be leading to a creative renaissance. In spirit of that, I wrote a majority of this final installment in a fervent need to see this finished tonight of all nights. I truly am proud of all the hard work that I have put into this, the server for this new hope, and all of the people who decided to take a chance on a stupid fic about two grown men showering while wearing socks. It's been a wild fucking ride and I hope y'all enjoy. Comments and kudos are appreciated, as always. Peace! <3
> 
> (Also, BIG fucking shout out to everyone who's helped me with this fic over the months, but most of all Mae, who has looked over and edited legit every single one of these chapters before I post them. Love you!!)

The first few weeks with a new member of the family was a hassle. Being woken up in the middle of the night with crying, trying to figure out what kind of food to get, the whole nine yards. The little furball was nothing but a nuisance to Curt; he couldn’t even remember at this point why he had wanted to bring it home. Something about it had seemed like a good idea at the time, probably. Maybe as a late anniversary gift to Owen, or maybe because the damn thing just looked so pathetic and helpless in that cold facility. Was still one of the worst decisions he had ever made, which was saying something. 

Curt had always wanted a pet, even if his mom always said no because they would never be able to afford the upkeep. He was a dog kind of man. Always envisioned himself with a German Shepard or Golden Retriever or something. When he had some across the Garfield-looking little fucker, he had probably thought something along the lines of, “Oh hell yeah, close enough.”

“And another thing!” Curt complained as they laid in bed one night. “I still think Agent is a bad name for him.”

Curt didn’t have to see Owen’s face to know he was rolling his eyes. “You’re the one who named him, Mega.”

“Well yeah, which means I should be allowed to change it. He doesn’t deserve a name as cool as Agent." 

“You built this coffin, now lie in it. Now can we _please_ go to sleep?”

Curt grumbled and rolled over, but his one man crusade against the little demon wasn’t over.

It was the little things that really got him. Something that exemplified the general relationship was the way Agent would lay on Owen and purr, but completely avoid Curt and even give him a bit of a scratch for his troubles. People kept asking him why his arms were covered in band-aids and honestly, Curt was starting to get tired of it. When Barb had asked, the scratches had been from a knife fight. When Tatiana had asked, they were from a vat of boiling acid on a mission gone wrong. When Curt’s mother had asked while they were visiting, Curt had replied that they were from an accident while Owen had been trying to teach him out to cook. He should have known better by then than to say anything relating to him gaining needed skills for self sufficiency, because she then proceeded to coo for the next hour about how her little boy was growing into a man, to which he replied that he’s “been a man for a decade, ma!”

Curt couldn't help feeling bad about the lying, but it was undeniably better than telling the truth. That it was his own damn fault.

An animal also made it harder for them to do something as simple as do what their job required of them. Whenever the both of them were assigned to the same mission, or were out at the same time, they always had to make sure someone to check up on Agent. If they didn’t, he would end up just eating all of the food they’d set out for him in one sitting, because of course he would. Depending on whether Barb was coming with them, they asked either her or Mrs. Mega to pop in at least once a day. Frankly, it felt a little ridiculous to ask the woman to fly in just to house sit a cat, but she certainly hadn’t complained. Well, hadn’t complained about flying in. She had, in fact, complained about not seeing Curtis enough and the fact that it took “this little orange cutie” for them to see each other face to face for the first time in months. He apologized and promised he would visit more often, like he always did. Because of Agent, it was seeming more and more likely that he would end up actually keeping his promise.

A more recent development was Agent stealing their things. He had always found it within himself to create a little mischief, but the worst he had done yet was knock a glass off the counter (which had irked the both of them, but at least Owen had actually forgiven him for being a cat). Now, however, they would occasionally discover that a sock or tie had gone missing, only to later see Agent sleeping on top of it. Barb had suggested baby proofing the house after Curt had complained, but Owen had told him it would be too much money and effort. 

One day, Curt was finally fed up. A pair of his favourite socks had gone missing and he knew exactly who to blame. When he found that Agent hadn’t retreated to his bed as usual, he searched the apartment high and low in search of the bastard. Then, he realized that the bathroom door was open.

He crept up to the doorway and peeked in. He didn’t see anything out of place and almost dismissed the room, before noticing a very soft purring coming from the bathtub. Inside, he saw Agent curled up with his fluffy, but breathable and surprisingly durable, “gay rights” socks. He nearly called for Owen, before he came up with something even better than just publicly humiliating Agent for his thievery. 

“Hey, Owen,” Curt whispered, peeking his head out the door. When Owen looked up from the book he was reading in bed, he gestured him over. Owen decided to humour him and closed the book. 

Once they were both in the bathroom, Curt revealed Agent and his spoils. Owen reached down to grab the socks, but Curt shook his head and then nodded to where he had placed his hand on the shower knob. 

_”No,”_ Owen started, but it was too late. 

Curt grinned as he turned the water on. 

Hisses and mewls erupted from the tub below, and Agent immediately bolted as soon as he regained his senses. Curt clutched his stomach, tears coming to his eyes as he laughed. 

“Oh, you _prick._ He’s going to get water everywhere!” Owen rushed for a towel and then out the door, but couldn’t help but grin as he wiped Agent off, as he could still hear Curt occasionally giggle in the other room. 

He scoffed through his smile when he went back in the bathroom to drape the towel over the rack to dry. “You’re pathetic, Mega,” he said, which made Curt laugh even harder.

“Here,” Curt said, stripping his shirt off. “Water’s already on, might as well get in. You down to join me?”

“Suppose it can’t hurt anything.”

When Curt starts washing Owen’s back, neither can help but relax at the routine comfort of it all. “You know what’s nice about this?” Curt hums in response. “Not being the ones stuck washing with socks on.”

Curt barks out a laugh. “Yeah, it _is_ nice.”

They’ve switched positions by the time Owen speaks again. “I was talking to Barb a week ago or so.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“She said that she had tried socks in the shower. She actually quite enjoyed it.”

Curt whipped around, and the bottom of the tub squeaked as he moved. “She would _not.”_

Owen suppressed a grin. “Afraid not, old boy. Apparently, she had also passed on the information to Tatiana, who also tried it.”

“Don’t tell me she-”

“According to Miss Larvenour, she enjoyed the experience.”

“You’d better be joking, or they’re both dead to me.”

Owen shrugged. “Who’s to say?”

Curt groaned and kissed him. “So _this_ is why you like that damn cat so much. You’re both a couple of bastards. Peas in a pod, you two.”

“At least I’m not the one in this relationship who steals clothes.”

“I hate you so much right now. Keep washing my hair.”

“Love you too, old boy.”

“Yeah alright, I love you, too.”


End file.
